


not far from home

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, On the Run, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Pre-Recall, Pre-Relationship, Safehouses, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9225677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Eventually, you just get used to each other.





	

The safe house is an old Blackwatch hideout in the sewers, still in use by ex-agents gone missing or presumed dead. Genji wonders if there has ever been an occasion where the safe house has been occupied by more than two people at once, or if there is an unsaid pact to keep out if someone has claimed it for the night. Genji hadn’t known about it, but McCree sends him the coordinates anyway, along with a jaunty text to keep it a secret, _if it wasn’t too much trouble, please and thank you very much_.

When Genji first drops in through the maintenance hatchway, he expects dust and cobwebs and the smell of old, abandoned things. He is wrong on both accounts.

There is a single cot, made clean with white sheets and a blanket, and a small bathroom with running water that does not show rust. The shelves don’t have much, but they are stocked with some rations. It’s more than what Genji expects, for a safe house that is not supposed to be in use. Overwatch has been disbanded and dead for nearly a decade, and he assumes the same for Blackwatch. Either McCree keeps the safe house tidy on his own, or its interchanging occupants have somehow agreed to have it stocked and ready for anyone. Genji mulls this over for a moment and then brushes away the fleeting thought of a missing home he’s never had to begin with.

McCree’s things are piled in the corner near the cot. A hat, a small traveling pack, and an opened first-aid kit. Genji breathes in. He doesn’t pick up the smell of tobacco or smoke. It tells him that McCree hasn’t stayed for very long.

(He doesn’t know why he assumes this. Old memory, perhaps, from back when he can single out McCree from the sound of his spurs or the scent of his cigarettes faster than the sight of his Blackwatch uniform. McCree had always been a collection of distinct impressions, neither bad nor good.)

Genji hears McCree’s revolver click. And that is another familiar sound, not quite a comfort, but he recognizes the safety being flicked on.

“Fancy meeting you here,” McCree says with some humor, stepping out of the opposite corner—Genji’s blind side. His gun is pointed upwards, but Genji knows it had been trained on him just seconds ago.

“Should I have knocked?” Genji asks, putting up his hands in a polite show of good faith. He only has his swords.

“Nah. Old habits, you know,” McCree says, shrugging. He waves aside Genji’s gesture with a laugh. “Enough of that, now. How’ve you been?”

Genji puts his hands down and starts unclasping the swords from his body. He sets them aside, giving McCree a considering look. “Not too bad. Wish I could say the same for you.”

The opened first-aid kit gives away most of what Genji suspects from the start. One side of McCree’s face is bruised, his prosthetic has wires coming out, and he smells like blood instead of tobacco. But bounty hunting is always dirty business even if he does it well.

“Ahh, gotta pay the bills somehow,” McCree says, mournful, and holsters his gun.

“You’re a fugitive,” Genji reminds, smiling behind his faceplate.

“Yeah, but sometimes you just miss paying for things the good ol’ fashioned way,” McCree says, voice light enough to suggest bitterness beneath it all. He brushes past Genji. His right side reveals medical gel casing across his shoulder. “I’d hate to impose, but I gotta insist you take first watch.”

“Of course,” Genji says, easing down on the floor to sit.

“Thanks,” McCree says, not quite looking at him, and collapses in the bed without another word.

* * *

Genji lets McCree sleep until morning. He meditates in the meanwhile, checks his encrypted tablet, sends a few messages to Zenyatta. The safe house seems secured, so he ponders over the reasons why McCree would want him here. Certainly not to defend him. They’ve gone years without needing each other, during and after Overwatch. Occasionally they have teamed up for the odd mercenary job, more out of convenience than necessity, but even those moments had been few and far in between.

He wonders if McCree feels at ease with him—it’s an interesting idea. Genji doesn’t mean to put it to the test, but he moves to his feet, stepping lightly to where McCree lays sleeping. It is past sunrise, and there are things to be done.

Genji doesn’t get any closer than a few steps. He is a little relieved when McCree’s hand moves, gun pointed at Genji in quick reflex. McCree’s finger presses against the trigger and holds before the sleep clears from his eyes and he checks back his revolver.

“Mornin’,” McCree says, sitting up. It is the second time he has pointed his weapon at Genji in so many hours. He doesn’t apologize, and neither does Genji expect him to.

McCree’s morning routine is a quick affair of eating a ration bar and redressing his wound. He offers a bar for Genji. Genji politely declines, and offers to check McCree’s injuries. McCree politely declines that as well.

“Though,” McCree begins, finishing up the last piece of his breakfast, “I’m in need of a little assistance with a job.”

Genji’s own funds have been running low. He has a cyborg body in need of routine maintenance and a human mind in need of occupation. A job is exactly what he needs and what he expects from McCree.

“Let’s hear it,” Genji says, and settles down to listen to McCree’s latest bounty proposal.

* * *

The upcoming days are spent gathering information. Genji rarely returns back to the safe house, preferring to spend his sleeping hours on the quiet city rooftops or the in-between spots of towering buildings. There is also the matter of privacy. McCree keeps a weapon trained to the safe house’s door and Genji doesn’t see the point of keeping either them on edge. He suspects it would not have mattered if the safe house had been a secured hotel or a four-walled steel room with no door—McCree would sleep with a gun under his pillow in any scenario.

But during nights when the wind is too strong for rooftops or the streets too dangerous for sleeping, Genji sends him a quick message in advance and makes his way to the safe house. There is being polite for the sake of friendly pretenses, but he is not going to needlessly make himself uncomfortable, especially when he is doing McCree the favor of assisting him with a bounty.

Another drop down the maintenance hatch, and Genji is in the safe house once again. He peers around, but McCree is nowhere in sight—most likely still following up on a couple of leads. Genji checks his phone, and sure enough, McCree is busy, says the room should be unoccupied.

The single bed is made, more inviting than a dark corner of an alleyway. Genji puts himself under the covers and spends the next few minutes trying to fall asleep.

He drifts, in and out. Hours pass, and Genji sits up when he hears McCree step into the room.

“No need to get up on my account,” McCree says, sounding amused. He holsters his gun the same time Genji’s shuriken slide back into their casing. With a brief pat around his side, McCree pulls out a small tablet, turning it on. Maps flash across the screen. “New info, when you’re ready.”

Genji waves the tablet away for later and McCree shrugs, setting it aside on a table to clean himself up. Less bruises, less blood, now that he’s got help. In the meanwhile, Genji remakes the bed, giving the sheets a cursory tug at the corners. McCree talks about what he’s learned and Genji replies with either confirming or conflicting reports of his own. When everything’s been said and done, McCree lays down in the cot, and Genji takes the back corner, tablet in hand to read.

“You can stay, you know,” McCree says, and Genji supposes he means even after he looks over the maps.

“I know.” Genji glances up from the screen. “But I’d rather you rest more easy.”

McCree shifts in the bed, back to the wall, like Genji knew he would. His brow raises in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Genji shrugs, not feeling committed enough to give a real answer. He’s not even sure if he has an explanation himself. “Like I said; I’d rather you rest.”

McCree takes the hint, or is either too tired to press the issue. He shuts his eyes, and Genji goes through the maps. Eventually, McCree falls asleep, unnoticed as Genji concentrates on the reports. It takes a good hour, and Genji looks up to see the steady rise and fall of the bedsheets from McCree’s even breathing. It is a shame that he has to disturb it, but Genji does not particularly want to stay unmoving for the whole night.

He stands, soundless, but there is no hiding his presence. McCree wakes up with a jolt, gun clicking.

Genji smiles crookedly from behind his faceplate, hands raised up in mock surrender. His armor brightens. He doesn’t say— _see what I mean?_

McCree mumbles sleepily, firing arm falling back into the bedding, and Genji takes his leave without saying anything.

* * *

The next few exchanges are more or less the same. Genji flits back and forth between the city streets and underground sewers, doing most of his work at night. The bounty is not all that difficult, mostly tedious in its monitoring and covering up their own tracks. McCree wants the bounty alive, which complicates things by a slight margin. It’s not much different from the work they had done for Overwatch, and they fall back into their routines with a certain degree of ease that makes Genji only a little rueful.

But McCree doesn’t stop pointing his gun each time Genji walks into the safe house or startles him awake. It isn’t so much of a nuisance than just another detail to note, since McCree never ends up shooting. Genji doubts he has ever seen McCree misfire once, much less half sleep. It’s a little bit of a greeting at this point and Genji takes no offense. He wonders if that jumpy reaction had been a habit for McCree in Blackwatch as well. For some reason, Genji thinks it might not have been.

“So I was wondering if you’d like to do the honors,” McCree says, a week later.

They are sitting on the concrete floor together, a shared pot of tea between them. Genji has the lower part of his faceplate off, exposing his mouth and jaw. His eyes remain hidden, reading his HUD as he puts the warmed cup to his lips. From behind the mundane weather reports and newsfeeds, he sees McCree give him a sidelong glance. Genji takes a sip of the tea, light jasmine scent filling his mouth, and he blinks away the overlaying text from his screen.

“It’s your call,” he replies. The split for the reward is an even fifty-fifty, which is a generous offer on McCree’s part. Genji has deferred to him as a courtesy so far, but he appreciates the gesture. “But if you do not mind…”

“Don’t matter none to me, so long as our man isn’t dead by the end of it,” McCree says with a grin.

“Ah, so you _do_ trust me,” Genji says, returning the grin with a smirk of his own.

McCree scoffs into his mug. He drains his tea and pours himself another, more readily taken in with the drink than what Genji expects. “‘Course I do.”

Genji swirls his cup, stopping only when McCree tips the pot his way. There are a lot of things he doesn’t know about McCree, but he feels like he ought to have a better grasp on him after all this time.

“Thank you,” Genji says, after a long moment.

“Like it? I’m partial to black tea myself,” McCree replies, still holding the pot. His gaze is too sharp to miss, too knowing.

Genji laughs, and lets McCree pour him another cup.

* * *

The next time Genji wakes McCree in the dead of night, he gets so far as the middle of the room before McCree’s body tenses and his eyes open. Genji doesn’t hear the sound of his gun and it takes a moment for him to realize McCree had never pulled it out from his pillow to begin with. It is a little worrying.

“Are you tired?” Genji asks before he can stop himself.

McCree rubs his eyes, not understanding. He throws Genji a bleary look. “No? Not more than the usual, I mean.” He clears his throat. “I _did_ just wake up.”

“Well,” Genji says, feeling slightly idiotic. As of now, he is a couple hundred credits richer, and with a few reasons less to stick around. “Today was a long day.”

McCree grunts, rolling himself out of the bed. He is also a couple hundred credits richer, thanks to their successful bounty hunt. “That fight was sorta rough on you.”

“Not really.”

McCree makes a rude noise of disbelief and pushes him towards the bed. “Go get some rest, Genji. Don’t think you’ve slept more than a couple of hours through this whole damned thing.”

The back of Genji’s knees bump against the frame of the bed. He sits, frowning at nothing in particular. In front of him, McCree checks his inventory; the gun, the hat, the small pack of unknown personal items. It’s not much.

McCree gives him another glance, and Genji obligingly lays down, if only to pacify him for the time being. The sheets are still warm—his woven armor sensors tell him so, rather than the feel of it. Genji would need to wait until McCree leaves to remove his helmet.

“Don’t forget to lock up once you’re done with the place,” McCree reminds him before he steps out the door.

He will not be coming back to the safe house, and neither will Genji.

The door shuts, locks silently blinking red in acknowledgment. Genji waits a full minute before taking off his helmet, letting it fall to the side of the cot. He presses his cheek to the pillow. By now the cloth has gone cool against his skin, but it’s only a distant passing thought as he pulls the covers over his head and shuts his eyes.

* * *

It becomes inevitable after so many safe houses and shared spaces. Genji feels as if he shouldn’t be so surprised, but he is—and he wonders when he had stopped being troubled by it.

It happens for the first time in an old abandoned office building in Mexico, months after their last bounty team-up. Genji climbs through the window, landing quietly into the room. The wooden floorboards bounce under his weight, the soft creak betraying him, but an abandoned factory is always full of other tiny noises.

Genji eyes the familiar room. Two beds in the corner, one of them occupied by McCree’s slumbering form, the other empty. Early morning sunlight filters through the dirty glass window, giving the room a flinty dim look. Genji’s armor brightens, adjusting to the gloom.

He walks to his own bed, expecting to hear McCree shift awake or the click of a gun, but McCree does not stir from his spot. Genji pauses, looking down at the messy tangle of McCree’s hair. He steps closer, frowning, and wonders what had given him away each time before. Maybe it had been the lights of his armor, or the near silent sound of his footfalls, or the way he can’t help how the very air shifts as he moves.

But even with all of Genji’s tells, McCree sleeps on, and it’s disconcerting to see him vulnerable. Genji thinks it might be something he’d take advantage of someday, and that is nearly just as worrying.

He turns around, toying with the idea of going back outside, but McCree’s hand around his wrist stops him before the thought even completes itself. Genji looks down again, finding McCree awake, but barely.

“Stay a while,” McCree mumbles, fingers sliding down to better fit around Genji’s hand. He pulls, gently insisting, until Genji’s knees are resting against the edge of the bed.

Other things have become inevitable as well, though Genji believes this to be the most inexplicable—that McCree, with all his edged reflexes and restless sleep, has somehow grown used to his presence, intentional or not. And despite everything, Genji feels a little threatened by it. Hopelessly threatened.

McCree scoots back, and Genji falls in beside him. The gun beneath McCree’s blankets bumps against his forearm, metal barrel sliding over the narrow indentations of Genji’s gauntlet. The shuriken inside click reassuringly. Genji laughs, wrapping his arms under McCree’s shoulders as McCree keeps a hold on his gun, moving it up and over Genji.

“Think I got you covered?” McCree says into Genji’s neck, his laugh less of a sound and more of a rumble against Genji’s throat.

“Yes.” Genji’s throwing hand presses to McCree’s exposed back, and he hopes McCree feels just as assured.

Eventually, they fall asleep, safe and sound.


End file.
